Join Me When You're Free
by Skalidra
Summary: Damian and Tim have been together for years, and sometimes, Damian likes to try new things. Usually Tim can see them coming a mile away, or at least know when Damian's got something on his mind, but this time he's caught a little off guard. (Which does not at all mean that he's not interested.)


Welcome! So, frankly, this is PWP. There's no more to it than that. XD It's also from the 100 prompts, number 6, 'Break Away'. Enjoy!

 **Warnings** for : explicit sex/sexual things and bondage.

* * *

"Beloved?" Damian murmurs one night, when they're both on the couch in one of his best safehouses — Damian pretty much refuses to go anywhere else — with Damian lying shirtless over his lap, and his laptop resting on Damian's back.

It has the tone of a question, despite Damian not looking up at him, or adding more to it. That's not all that unusual; Damian is usually blunt about what he wants but only once he's worked up the courage to demand it. He's really _working_ on getting Damian to actually ask instead of demanding, but sometimes those 'demands' are just way too enticing and he ends up agreeing without trying to make Damian work for it.

He's trying to train himself not to do that, as much as he's trying to train Damian to be polite.

He gives it a moment in case Damian's going to add something else, and when he doesn't, he asks, "Yeah, baby?" He lowers a hand from his laptop as he asks, rubbing it along Damian's shoulders and then down along that copper skin to the muscle of Damian's neck.

Damian gives a little hum of pleasure, pressing up into his touch. "I have something I wish to try," his lover breathes, forehead pressing down into the arms he has crossed beneath his head. "When you are amenable."

He narrows his eyes at the back of Damian's head, curious exactly what it is that Damian's thinking about. He hasn't gotten any hints lately, and usually he does. Usually, he knows what Damian wants a while before Damian actually works up the courage to ask him for it. Damian will stare at things, or make small, leading comments, or a dozen other little signs that something is going on. But he can't remember anything from recent memory that had him thinking that Damian was considering something to try out.

He takes a look at his work, and then quietly closes his laptop and leans over Damian's back so he can set it on the coffee table. Damian gives an irritated little huff at the removal, and he almost snickers because he will _never_ stop finding it amusing that Damian likes heat enough to be so comfortable with a laptop venting on his skin. That was a completely accidental discovery; Damian was sprawled over his lap and refusing to move, so he just set the laptop up on Damian's stomach instead. And then Damian fell asleep underneath it, and he found an excellent way to get his work done _and_ please his finicky, needy lover.

"I'm listening," he says, rubbing his free hand up Damian's back, mouth curling in a little smirk at the leftover patch of hot skin.

Damian arches up into his touch for a moment, and then pushes up and off his lap. Only for a second though, because then Damian is straddling his thighs, taller and bigger than him now but still so _very_ wrapped around his fingers. He's honestly glad that Damian didn't grow up to have Bruce's build, because he really, _really_ enjoys this long, lean thing that Damian's become, all beautiful copper skin and long eyelashes and jade eyes.

Damian's hands lower, finding his wrists and circling them, pressing them down against the couch. He raises an eyebrow, and Damian leans in and kisses him, hips rolling forward into his own. He twists his wrists against Damian's loose hold, coaxing his lover's mouth open and sliding his tongue in as Damian pushes closer.

Then Damian pulls back a bit with a soft moan, hips rolling a little more purposefully, pressing his wrists down a little harder, which is new. Damian presses a small kiss to the corner of his mouth, and then pulls backs enough to meet his eyes. There's a little bit of uncertainty there, but not enough — he knows by now — to stop Damian from drawing in a sharp breath and speaking.

"I wish to tie you down."

He stalls for a second, only managing a surprised, "Really?"

He's tied _Damian_ down before, lots of times. Damian gets off pretty hard on being restrained and/or ordered around, but he's never really gotten the impression that Damian wanted to try it the other direction. Damian, for all of his aggressiveness and sharp tongue, _adores_ being taken control of. They've played both physical sides of things, a lot, and they've had some lovely non-kinky sex too, but Damian's never expressed an interest in really topping him. At least, not until now. Not that, necessarily, Damian tying him down will have anything to do with topping him. The two things don't have to be interconnected.

Damian flushes a bit, teeth flashing sharp and bright as Damian snaps, "What? Do you find that inconceivable, Drake?"

"No," he soothes, pulling his hands free so he can run them up Damian's sides, rubbing soft circles into that bare skin. "Just a little surprising. You really do?"

Damian's flush grows a little, but there's a steady nod, a challenging look from jade eyes that he knows is _daring_ him to make fun or belittle Damian's desires. Not that he would. They do a lot of snapping, teasing, and challenging, but he doesn't poke at Damian's actual insecurities and Damian does the same for him. Mutual respect has worked out well for them, once they got past the fire of hatred and irritation of Damian's younger years. Really, he's not sure how neither of them saw that first night of desperate, almost violent sex coming. At first it just sort of… _happened_ .

He rubs a little more deliberately at Damian's hips, just above the hem of the dark jeans he's wearing, and he echoes that nod. "Alright. Sure." Damian looks surprised, and he gives a small smile and teases, "You know rope safety?"

Damian rolls his eyes, sitting back a bit. " _Yes_ , Drake. You have walked me through it a dozen times; I _know_ ."

He smiles a little wider, and raises his hands to pull Damian down for a kiss, one hand curled tight in the hair at the back of his lover's neck. Damian gives a little groan, hands pressing against his chest and then blindly finding the buttons of his shirt to pull them apart. He got back from Wayne Enterprises and never quite changed out of business clothes, so he's still all dressed up in his semi-formal wear.

"Is this a _now_ kind of a thing?" he asks against Damian's mouth, a little bit amused at how determined Damian seems to be to strip him out of his shirt as fast as possible.

Damian's hands still, and then his lover pulls back enough to look him in the eye, one eyebrow arching high. "Are you too busy?"

He bites back a laugh at how distinctly _unimpressed_ Damian sounds with the idea, and ends up smirking as he answers, "No," and goes back in for another kiss.

Damian meets him, enthusiastically, until they're both breathing harder, stealing kisses in between soft gasps for breath. His shirt is pushed back and off his shoulders, tie discarded somewhere across the couch, with Damian's hands currently occupied in pulling his shirt out from where it's tucked in and undoing his belt. He returns the favor, pushing Damian's sweatpants down over his hips and, at the discovery that his lover isn't wearing anything underneath them, slips both hands back to grab Damian's ass.

That gets him a low moan, before Damian is yanking his zipper down and pushing a hand inside his pants, cupping the curve of his mostly-hard cock. He gasps, rocking up against it, and Damian squeezes _once_ before pulling sharply away, shaking his hands off and climbing to his feet. One hand closes around one of his wrists, and then Damian is pulling him up as well, pulling him towards the bedroom with that endearing, aggressive confidence that always shows up once Damian is sure that things are going to go his way.

He lets Damian lead him away, raising an eyebrow as Damian detours to grab one of the chairs from around the dining table, carrying it with his free hand. He doesn't say anything though.

Damian takes him into the bedroom, pushing his office chair away from his desk with one foot and planting the dining chair there instead, facing it towards the bed before releasing his wrist. "All clothes off and sit down," Damian demands, giving him a look over one shoulder that implies he believes that there is no world or universe where he doesn't do exactly what Damian wants him to.

He smiles and starts to obey, and Damian pauses just long enough to make sure he is before circling around to their walk-in closet of toys. After a while, a chest or drawer just wasn't cutting it anymore. Too many things; plus it turns out that Damian really, _really_ likes being able to see all the different choices arranged like some kind of treasured collection.

As for him, he _lived_ for the day that Dick accidentally opened that door and promptly just _stared_ for a good forty seconds. Jason, also there, had turned around with the biggest grin and asked, _"Can we_ _**borrow**_ _some of this?"_

Damian nearly melted from embarrassment, but that has _not_ stopped him from loving to be fucked or 'made' to give oral in the middle of that closet. Not that he could _make_ Damian do something he didn't want to without a very high possibility of severe blood loss and permanent scarring, probably in tender places he really doesn't want it to be.

He takes his seat, and a few moments later Damian comes back from the closet. He's holding a couple of their looped up coils of rope in one hand, and he recognizes the silver glint of the safety scissors in the other. He raises an eyebrow, but holds still as Damian walks over, confident or at least really trying to be.

"So what's the point of the game?" he asks, as Damian sets most of it down on the desk and then gets to work with one of the longest pieces of rope. He half wonders if how well Damian seems to know his way around the rope is because of duties as Robin, or because his lover has been watching whenever he's been tied up and committed the patterns to memory.

With Damian, it could be either.

"Wait and find out," Damian orders, and he gives a small smirk and just gets back to watching Damian work.

So the game doesn't start till he's actually restrained; that works. He trusts Damian, and he trusts Damian to stop if necessary. That's all he really needs in the way of safety measures, given their skill sets. He trusts that there's almost no situation — no _remotely likely_ situation — where Damian couldn't free him in one way or another if there was danger, even if it was just enough to let him work out of the rest on his own.

Damian's very thorough about the ropes; by the time his lover has used everything brought out, and steps back, he really _can't_ move. A couple inches or so of wiggle room, enough that he could probably get free with some serious effort, but it would take time. He doesn't test it yet, and Damian's mouth curls in a small smirk at his stillness, head tilting a bit to one side to study him before Damian starts fairly efficiently stripping out of his clothes.

"The scissors are on the desk behind you," Damian says, matter of fact and distant. "If there is an emergency, you should be able to move the chair to reach them and cut yourself loose. If you do so otherwise, I will be _displeased_." Damian turns away from him, boxers dropping to the floor, and flashes a smirk over his shoulder. "Otherwise, you may join me when you are free, beloved."

"Wait, what?"

He stalls out for a moment, watching Damian just cross over to the bed and sprawl out across it, head resting on one of the pillows and a hand reaching out towards the bottle of lube on the bedside table. The click of the cap is what snaps his mind back into action, but it isn't until Damian is sliding a hand down underneath those hips and circling a finger around the entrance he can _see_ flex beneath the touch that he realizes that this could very much be a spectator sport if he doesn't start working. Not that he isn't fine with watching, because he actually _loves_ to watch, but this is watching without the promise of involvement and he is definitely not enough into voyeurism to want to do that without at least being able to touch himself.

Damian gives a little sigh as that first finger slides easily in, and he swallows and starts pulling at the ropes, testing each section piece by piece for any weaknesses.

Damian did an _excellent_ job, he finds out quickly, which makes him both proud and a little frustrated. There are no knots near enough to his fingers or mouth to reach, nothing gives when he pulls to test it, and there's not nearly enough room to slip a hand free without losing skin with it or dislocating something, which falls outside of acceptable limits of injury for play. Also, stripping him down made sure he doesn't have any tools to work with, not that he had much in his work clothes but still, it's good forethought. There are the scissors behind him, but those are off limits for obvious cheating reasons.

However, the _desk_ is not, and there's _plenty_ of things in his desk.

It's a little hard to pull his attention away from Damian so he can concentrate on the desk, especially since Damian's sliding his free hand over his chest in a definitely purposefully distracting way, but he hasn't gone through years of training to control himself for nothing. He gets his attention on the desk, trying to remember precisely what's in it so he can get his hand close enough to the right drawer. He thinks there's actually a pair of scissors in there, along with pens, pencils, various stationary, and actually, a few gadgets and essentials of his Red Robin gear too.

He's learned that it's pretty much impossible to be over prepared, with the kind of lives they lead. He's got bits of gadgetry and gear stashed all over the house, just in case. So does Damian.

Damian gives a small whine, and it's a mistake but he looks back and catches the slip of _two_ fingers inside his lover. It makes him swallow, makes his breath catch, but he manages to pull his gaze away again and start the slow process of rocking and shifting his chair closer to the desk.

He's had a fair amount of practice at this, both in training and real world scenarios, but it's still a delicate balance to shift the chair without it threatening to tip over. If he ends up making it — and himself — fall over onto the ground, he's pretty much screwed unless he manages to break the chair on impact, and he's about ninety percent sure that their chairs are good enough to hold through a hell of a lot more than his weight falling on one. So it's slow and steady, or risk total failure.

The whole while Damian is making noise; sighs and whimpers and little groans that he knows intimately. They're the sounds that Damian makes when he's working with confidence, absent of the shame or self-consciousness that often makes his lover blush and strangle down any noise. He _loves_ when Damian is relaxed enough to make noises like that; he'd love them more if he was actually _over there_.

He finally gets over to the desk, not hurrying no matter how much he wants to, and then gets the chair twisted around so he can actually get one hand to a desk drawer. He pulls it open carefully, craning his head so he can see down into it. He remembered correctly, this _is_ the drawer with the scissors.

It's a lot of patience, grasping fingers, and the struggle to ignore an increasingly aroused sounding Damian, but he eventually gets a finger looped through one handle of the scissors, and then _carefully_ lifts it until it's properly in his hand. He glances up at Damian again, and gets caught by the sight of those darkened, lidded eyes watching him, those copper cheeks flushed darker and mouth parted. Then his mind catches up with movement, with the slide of three fingers and the way Damian is rocking between those fingers and the hand wrapped around himself, hard, slick, and _open_.

He stares, transfixed, until he recognizes the way Damian's sounds are growing louder, more desperate, and then he jerks to action because he does _not_ want to miss this.

He digs the scissors in underneath the rope around his wrist, working it back and forth because these might be good scissors but this is much better quality rope. They bought it to last, to withstand all the strain they'd undoubtedly put it through, so it's braided, thick, _sturdy_ . Usually he appreciates that, but right now it's just _frustrating_ . He's hard, Damian's _so close_ , and he can't get the scissors to cut any faster through the rope.

He saws, _strains_ , and it finally snaps. He's so surprised he almost drops the scissors, but thankfully he recovers fast enough to catch himself and not lose his only real method of getting out of here.

With his wrist at least partially free it's easier, and he manages to work one arm free in pretty quick order so he can get that hand on one of the knots holding this thing together. It's marginally faster than the scissors, but it still feels way too long before he manages to get his arms free. He all but yanks the rope off his chest, reaches down for his legs, and Damian's sounds turn to cries, sheets rustling and he can _hear_ the slick noise of Damian's fingers inside himself.

He forces himself to stay steady long enough to get the last knots undone, knowing that if he gives into the urgency his fingers will start to slip, and the _moment_ the last knot is undone he all but lunges off the chair. One foot is still tangled, so it pulls tight against his ankle and he _almost_ falls, but he manages to shake it loose and keep going with just one staggering hop.

He races to the bed, climbs onto it, and Damian's head is tilting back, muscles drawing tight, so he grabs those wrists and _wrenches_ Damian's grips away from himself. Damian gasps, jerks, and he shoves Damian's wrists down into the bed and leans over his partner, panting from the effort of getting over here. Damian's mouth is open, eyes wide, and he's squirming, all but _writhing_ .

" _Drake_ ," Damian cries, twisting against him. "Drake, _please!"_

Moving on instinct more than thought — because he has a difficult time remaining detached when Damian is this worked up even when he _hasn't_ been tied down for all the build up — he pushes his way between Damian's legs and releases Damian's wrists so he can reach down and pull Damian up against him instead. He presses close, forces himself to think enough to angle, to lift Damian's hips, and Damian's arms close around his back at the same time he pushes forward and into his lover.

Damian cries out, and the sound matches his own exclamation at the sudden sensation.

There's not even a thought about going slow, or of teasing Damian, or anything else. He moves, fast and deep and _chasing_ the release that he knows he can drive out of Damian, as well as his own. Damian clings to him, rolling to meet his thrusts and digging nails into his back, crying out between them with each hard shove of his hips.

It isn't long at all before Damian is raking lines down his back, arching and _screaming_ as he tenses and comes between them. He can feel the release hot and wet against his stomach as it rubs between them, can feel the rhythmic clench and release of Damian around him, and he grits his teeth and goes just a little faster, a little _harder_ .

Damian _keens_ .

He cries out in response and feels himself tip over the edge to his own release, tightening his hands around Damian's hips and then gasping into his lover's jaw as he bucks, almost completely out of control for a few long moment where blinding _pleasure_ blanks out his mind. When he comes back to himself he's leaning down over Damian, breathing hard against his lover's throat. Damian is breathing equally hard, hands still hard against his back, although not digging nails in like he was. Just holding him.

He pulls free — shivers; Damian gasps — and then collapses down onto the bed beside Damian, curling into his lover's side and hooking an arm over his chest. Damian, ever the cuddler, rolls sideways and promptly buries himself against his chest, a strong arm sliding around his back and dragging him pretty much as close as physically possible.

"What'd you think?" he asks eventually, when his breathing has slowed down and there's just that lazy glow of satisfaction left in his veins.

Damian gives a considering hum, sounding just as lazy. "I shall have to place you farther from any tools next time."

"Next time? So you did like it then?"

"Mmhmm," Damian agrees, muffled against his collarbone. "I nearly won. Next time I shall."

He snickers against the top of Damian's head, but doesn't call his lover out on his very, _very_ competitive nature. "We'll see," he just says instead, rubbing his palm over Damian's back. "So the goal is to get off before I can get to you?"

"Perhaps." Damian hums noncommittally against his skin, and then scrapes light nails up his back. "It _was_ enjoyable to see you so desperate to reach me, beloved; perhaps I simply wish to see if you can be pressed any further."

"Yeah, _perhaps_ ," he teases, and then closes his eyes and lowers his head to press against Damian's hair. "Alright, just let me know when you want to do it again then, Dami. Whenever you're up for it."

Because for as frustrating it was, it was also interesting, and the ending rush of accumulated denial and desire was pretty good. It's definitely something he'll try again.


End file.
